Cat Scratches
by Bubina
Summary: A few panicked minutes of Duo's life.


Cat Scratches  
Warning: this story is a major trigger, so if you can't handle it, please don't read it.  
  
"What are those scars on your leg?"  
  
"Cat scratches."  
  
***  
  
My breath was panicked, hurried... strained even. My heartbeat was fast, perhaps irregular, but I couldn't care less. I sat there and I waited. My fingers passed over the scars left behind by old scratches, and I looked at them with strange compassion. A smile passed over my lips.  
  
Relaxation.  
  
I closed my eyes. Falling. The sensation of falling back, back... And down, to the deepest depths. It was all so familiar, all so soothing. I concentrated on my breathing, what it felt like to feel my lungs rise and fall with the smoky air around me.  
  
One last drag from my cigarette, and it was gone, extinguished in the ash tray with a myriad of others. My eyes were open again and my breathing quickened once more.  
  
I ran my left hand slowly down my face and felt the cold sweat beading up all over my body. I bit my upper lip, then ran my tongue over it, slowly, as if to assess any damage caused by my teeth.  
  
I couldn't go upstairs just yet, Quatre and Trowa were in the next room, and they would see me. Had they ever seen the panic in my eyes when I felt this way? Seen the quick rise and fall of my chest? The way I shifted on my seat but could never get comfortable.  
  
I closed my eyes. Hard. This time I felt nothing except for a few hot tears running down my cheeks. They settled on the corners of my mouth, where my tongue slowly took them in. The salty taste ran down my throat and a choked sob left my mouth.  
  
Desperation.  
  
"Dry your tears, dry your tears..." Two frantic hands ran down my face and I lurched up off my seat. There was no-one in the kitchen. I almost ran there, opening the top cutlery drawer and pulling out a small knife. Was it sharp enough?  
  
I ran it over my palm a couple of times, then again with more pressure, but no blood appeared. Did I have the nerve to thrust it into my own hand?  
  
No.  
  
I put the knife back and returned to my seat in front of the computer. I stared at the screen for what seemed like an eternity, then decided to go upstairs after all. I had a plan. I had been sneaky before, I could sure as hell do it again.  
  
I walked upstairs to my room and picked up my guitar. I slowly plugged it into the amplifier and strummed out a few chords for as long as I thought was necessary. They suspected me, they never let me out of their sight for too long, so I had to be careful.  
  
Finally, I put the guitar down on my bed and got up slowly. I tiptoed to the bathroom and breathed a sigh of relief as I closed the door behind me. I opened the beauty case and picked up the razor, my fingers closing on it slowly. Already I felt more relaxed.  
  
I pulled my trousers down to my ankles and sat on the toilet cover. I watched the light glint off the double bladed razor for a moment, then lowered it to my thigh.  
  
Slash.  
  
Red.  
  
Slash.  
  
Red.  
  
Slash slash slash.  
  
I ran the blade over my thigh quickly, hard and fast, marvelling at what I was doing. I then relaxed, and watched the blood start to seep out of the cuts, slowly at first, then it dribbled down the side of my leg. I ran my finger over some of the blood and brought my finger to my mouth, tasting the metallic liquid at the back of my throat.  
  
Indulgence.  
  
I breathed a sigh of relief and instantly felt calmer.  
  
Suddenly the bathroom door opened and Quatre appeared. I was caught, razor in hand, thigh covered in blood, revelling in my situation.  
  
He had a smile on his face, that immediately disappeared when he saw me. I looked up at him in horror and tried to cover up my thigh in panic. I could tell he was just as fazed as I was.  
  
He tried to regain his calm, carry out what purpose he had come for. "Hey Duo, your cat just scratched me." he said, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a red line.  
  
Cat scratches.  
  
That was how I'd covered up my scars, saying there were cat scratches, but Quatre's were real cat scratches. His scratches revealed mine, revealed my situation, revealed my crime.  
  
Horror. 


End file.
